


foundation

by bloodrunsred



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: BAMF Morty Smith, Character Death, Character Study, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Episode: s01e10 Close Rick-Counters of the Rick Kind, Gen, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Insanity, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Misunderstandings, Murder, Origin Story, Psychological Torture, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rick Being an Asshole, Sad, Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, Torture, What Was I Thinking?, hes like 13 :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2019-11-06 00:52:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17929664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/pseuds/bloodrunsred
Summary: Knives, guns, poison, oh my - so many ways to kill a Rick, so little time.Oh well. Morty G-567 could try them all, one Rick and then another, until the universe was bathed in the blood of his grandfathers, and he sat on their throne above the galaxy.The few who knew of him called him Evil, and he quite liked the title.(Evil Morty origin story and P.O.V!)





	1. selfish

**Author's Note:**

> i'll edit this later - i'm not sure what it's missing, so tell me if you do!
> 
> also: if you like this, check out my other Rick and Morty stories ;)

Morty of G-567 was so excited for his first adventure without training wheels. He had never had much to be excited about; he had trouble expressing himself in the best way all the time, but the thought of more one-on-one time with Rick, more attention, more friendship made him happier than he had ever been.

Rick had been going on about it since he had come into Morty's life but, ever since Morty had turned thirteen, he was always talking about how cool it was that they could finally do real, important science stuff. 

Morty didn't know Rick very well - he had only been living with them for a few months - but he could say that Rick was definitely his favourite adult, with his inventions and devil-could-care attitude for everyone  _but_ Morty. Morty hadn't been outside the house so much in ages, collecting flowers and rocks for Rick to take home. The attention was nice and Morty really, really liked Rick for it.

Maybe not love yet, but Rick was his grandfather so it was almost guaranteed that it would come later.

Morty expected _a lot_ would happen for his first big adventure.

Morty _wasn't_ expecting to be woken up so early for it, but he didn't complain - he just asked Rick to give him a minute to put on jeans, the cool air stinging his eyes as he disabled his alarm. Maybe if they finished the adventure early, Rick would make up for waking him up at four in the morning with a present, or invention to help with his homework.

He stared at his mirror for just a moment, shrugging on a persona of ill-fitting confidence. 

Rick coughed obnoxiously outside the door, and Morty broke his eyes away from his own reflection, a sheepish smile crossing his face as he all but bounced out to meet Rick.

Rick shot a portal into the wall, and Morty dithered for a moment, trying to decide whether he should go say bye to his Mom. Rick rolled his eyes, gesturing for Morty to go before him, and Morty obliged after just a second.

He'd tell her all about the adventure when he got home.

 

*

 

"R-rick!" Morty's voice was hoarse, the dust and smoke from the demolished city choking him as he tried, desperately, to get Rick's attention. He couldn't move, rocks and beams pinning his body to the sidewalk like a bug on a cork board. Tears pooled quickly, the pain and overwhelming  _fear_ triggering his tearducts like he had never cried before. Smoke clung to the air and made it that much harder to see, but Morty tried anyway.

His fingers were bleeding from clawing uselessly at gravel and glass, but he tried to heave himself up anyway, scrabbling for anything to help him get back to Rick and home. He saw a tall figure, just a little while away and he nearly sobbed in relief, grinning despite the fact that his cheeks were wet and sticky with blood.

"Rick!" He called again, a little louder but loud enough because Rick heard him, turning his head sharply to stare right at Morty.

Rick smiled at him for a split-second before his expression warped into something akin to indecision. Morty could hear the Federation closing in, but surely Rick would still come and get him, come to make him safe-

A portal opened, poisonous green and brilliant like always but Morty wasn't jumping through it. He was stuck, trapped, and could only watch as Rick vanished, coat flapping behind him.

Then the portal was gone, like it had never been there at all.

For a moment, Morty was numb. Ash clung to his tongue and his vision swam with red, blood and fire mixing to create a picture of vivid decay with him a victim instead of a perpetrator. It didn't feel real. He had prepared himself for everything with Rick, every scenario, but he had never once considered that Rick would abandon him on a strange planet, or leave him to _die_.

And he was going to die. Rick had told him enough about the Federation to know what to expect and he found a bitter laugh bubbling up his throat as the debris covering him was shifted by his - Rick's - greatest enemy. 

By the time his emotions finally got around to working, he didn't waste time feeling especially shocked; Rick had left his wife, his daughter, his life before and Morty should have seen it coming a mile away. Rick didn't stick around to see the chaos he caused, he just enjoyed making waves and leaving everyone else to drown. Only, this time, Morty was in a rocking boat, ready to flip and be submerged forever.

It wasn't real.

But it made so much sense, how could he have been so naive, how could he have agreed to adventures, how could he have gotten stuck, how, how, how, how,  _how?_

No - no! It was a fun joke, but he was ready for Rick to shove him through a portal and sweep in with a last minute plan like he always did. He giggled, hysterical as sharp pincers dug into torn skin and fabric, wondering what else he could feel in his position. He knew what Rick would say.

_"Don't think, don't feel, just do."_

It would make sense to be scared. It would make sense to be screaming. But he and Rick didn't make sense and there was nothing he could do so he just laughed.

He laughed at himself for being so stupid, he laughed at Rick for getting him caught, he laughed at the Federation trying to find Rick who would never, ever come back. Maybe in fifteen years Rick would show up and try and reunite with Morty's rotted corpse, but until then the Federation was shit out of luck.

He was still crying, he realised after his laughing tapered out and he was guided none-too nicely onto a large cargo ship. That wasn't surprising. His whole body hurt, from Rick's bomb and how the Federation agents had been treating him, and it wasn't something he was used to. 

He was cold and scared and alone and he had never hated a person as much as he hated Rick. Anger and resentement built up in his gut, betrayal settling on his tongue like a second layer of smoke. He wanted his Mom and he wanted his Dad and he wanted Summer, and he never wanted to see Rick again.

 

*

 

He wanted Rick.

His teeth were rattling in his head, his screaming causing his lips to split again as the agent set every nerve ending he had on fire. 

_"Where is Rick Sanchez?"_

Morty would have answered if he could - he would have screamed that he didn't know from rooftops - but they didn't relent, forcing current after current of crackling electricity into his body. His back arched off the metal table until they let up, leaving him panting and crying and so unbearably alone with no chance of escape.

Morty was never going to escape - hadn't Rick taught him already, that he wasn't smart enough to brave the universe alone? That he needed to depend on Rick for that very reason?

The electricity started up again and he couldn't find it in himself to scream, only letting out a strangled wheeze as he choked on the blood dribbling down his throat from him biting his tongue, his lips, his cheek in an effort to escape the agony he was in. They stopped again, quicker than last time. Or maybe he was just going insane, the volts loosening the screws in his brain irreparably.

The ringing of his own screams in his ears died down enough for him to hear snippets of a conversation.

_"From a different universe-"_

_"Put down Rick Sanchez of C-137 as a known terrorist for our dimension as well."  
_

_"C-137?"_

_"Yes. Go."_

Rick, Morty thought, another Rick? How fitting, that Rick was the person to give him a slight reprieve to the problem he caused. Different universe, same person.

_C-137_

He was shocked again.

_C-137_

He could barely remember his own dimension number, but C-137 was burning through his brain with as much as ferocity as the electricity, melting everything he was into nothing. His head hurt so, so bad and he could feel his nose bleeding, the sticky wetness clinging to his upper lip. 

_C-137_

He was nothing.

_C-137_

Rick abandoned him.

_C-137_

They asked him the same question again but all he did was crack his head back down on the table, again and again and again until the voice yelling out the dimension stopped, taking Morty's conciousness as a prize for its silence.

 

*

 

He was with the Federation for a long time.

He didn't know exact numbers, and he doubted he could have remembered anything even if they outright gave him a calendar. They tried everything to get him to talk - from shocking him to gouging out his eye with a rusty spoon (and, God, he had screamed so much then despite himself, begging for Rick to come and take him away).

His skin was burned and shredded, broken bones healed incorrectly. He was a mess, and Rick was the only one to blame. The scientists that tested their shitty inventions and serums on him, the interrogators that snapped his bones and shocked him were monsters, sure. None of them could ever compare to Rick. They were clinical. They did their jobs to care for their families, and Rick cared for no-one.

Loved no-one.

Ruined Morty's life, because he didn't want to risk himself.

Life wasn't fair. Morty didn't ask to be born, didn't ask for Rick to come back, and it was all he could do to not think about his Mom and wonder if she even missed him. Her disabled son who was more trouble than he was worth, a constant reminder of the life she gave up for him and Summer. He liked to think she did, but he had seen her so happy when she was with Rick and not with him, that he couldn't honestly tell.

And that hurt him a lot more than anything the Federation could ever do to him.

He had a lot of time to think, and he spent most of that time trying not to.

It didn't work, but at least he didn't cry anymore.

 

*

 

Rick came to save him.

Not his Rick - another one, that came to scope out the Federation ship Morty had been left on during an emergency evacuation.

That Rick was okay. He was gentle, hovering around Morty like he wasn't sure how to make it better. They went back to his garage on his planet, and let Morty lie down. He made him a new eye, showing Morty the blueprints and explaining it as calmly and slowly as he could. He fixed Morty's skin and healed his bones and gave him an eyepatch to keep dust out of the new eye. He offered to take Morty back to his home dimension. 

He didn't stand a chance.

Morty threw up, the smell of burning flesh triggering his gag reflex as the Rick crumpled at his feet with a sizzling hole between his eyes. He sat, crying for the first time in what felt like forever, in a world that wasn't his, while someone with the face of his grandpa was lying on the cold, hard floor like a puppet with its strings cut. He tried to calm himself down.

_HewasjustaRick._

_Hewouldhavehurtme._

_Hedeservedit._

He forced himself to shove his hands in Rick's pockets, looking for something in particular, aside from the ray-gun he'd stolen earlier. He pulled out screwdrivers, condoms, and a few more weapons before he found it.

A portal gun.

His hands trembled as he held it loosely, the swirling portal fluid as mesmerising as it was chilling, the brilliant green light casting shadows across his face and memories across his mind. He wasn't sure of much, but as his tears stopped and he looked at the body again, he knew this:

Rick deserved it. He deserved everything, _his_ Rick or not. He would have abandoned Morty too. He would have let him be hurt, he would have laughed and just - just let it happen. He forced himself to look, and keep looking until the guilt and heartache were faint and numb, pushed to the back of his mind. He sat back, leaning against the bench in the garage, looking up to the flickering ceiling light like it would tell him what he could do.

The light sputtered out and died, sparks flying slightly before crackling out.

He looked back at the body.

Then at the door connecting to the rest of the house, where he and his family were probably sleeping (and that was a mind-fuck if he'd ever heard one). They were safe. He was safe. Rick, the Federation - nothing to do with Rick would be able to hurt them anymore. And they might be  _sad_ over Rick dying, but at least they would be alive and they wouldn't have to face the monster he really was.

It was  _better_ , this way.

It had to be his new purpose, it had to be, because he had nothing else to live for with a fractured mind and broken body, no-one to love and no-one to love him. Who else would save him, save his family before Rick fucked them over with his own selfishness? No-one. That was his responsibility, now, his task to take, his burden to bear. The guilt would fade because Rick wasn't _human_ , he was barely an animal, all self-preservation and deadly instincts.

Morty could do better. He wasn't dead, not like Rick thought, he could be better at Rick's game than Rick and beat him forever.

That would be his reward.

His prize, his justice. Rick had always been judge, jury and executioner - now Morty would judge him and he would find him _guilty_.

The prey to predator, through the predator's own design.

Morty hadn't had much to be excited about recently, but Rick at his feet had him fumbling with the key-pad of the portal gun. His brain whispered  _C-137_ , the coordinates said too often by the guards on the Federation ship, the letter and number combination echoing through his brain through the worst of it all.

 _"The rogue Rick,"_ they had whispered to each-other when they thought he couldn't hear,  _"Sanchez of G-567 said so himself_ _. Steals resources from other Ricks and their dimensions."_

He shook it off and punched in his home coordinates.

G-567.

He was going home, he thought, smiling at the portal that he opened in the wall. He was going to his world, and Rick wouldn't be apart of it anymore.

He couldn't see his reflection, but he felt his lips turn upward and predatory, his steps almost mechanical in how stiff he was, expecting pain with every forward foot. Rick had been against every foe in every conceivable universe, but he had never gone against Morty.

With a new idea, he grabbed the Rick's blueprints and technology, along with a sharp knife that felt at home in his hand. His face was changed now, and Rick's would be too.

_An eye for an eye._

Maybe the Federation stripped something away from Morty, and maybe he was doing their dirty work for them, but it was work that had to be done.

Maybe when Rick had a scar across his face and lungs that didn't breathe air, Morty would be satisfied. The new purpose that yearned for blood and revenge would be sated and he would be free to be normal.

He doubted it.

 


	2. empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knives, guns, his own bare hands - there were so many ways to kill a Rick, and he was determined to try them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've decided to keep my chapters relatively short and consistent to give me more time to work on my other stories - let me know if this works for you or if you'd prefer longer chapters!

Stepping through the portal was agony and bliss rolled into one, good memories following the bad as he found himself  _home._ After so long, after so much pain, and fear, and anger he was back, back where he had never thought he'd come again. He could smell Summer's perfume, almost overpowering in the lounge room. He could see his Mom's horse figurines upright and polished on the coffee table. He could hear-

He could hear laughing. 

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Breakfast time. He took a deep breath - he had prepared himself for this inevitability. That they would be happier without him. He had told himself so, over and over, which made the small  _twang_ from behind his ribcage even more surprising. He brushed his hands, still sticky with blood, against the family pictures still on display in the hallway. He would leave as soon as he got back at Rick. He would make a better life for himself, find a new family to love him like everyone here never had.

He took a deep breath, tucking the portal gun, knife and plans into the back of his jeans. He had a gun in hand, fingers curled lightly over the trigger, anxious to do this to  _Rick._ He hadn't known the other Rick, barely thought about what he might have to defend himself, but his Rick was a weapon of a man. He knew that, like he knew there was a grenade built into Rick's fifth watch, and that his screwdriver was 'multi-purpose, just in case.'

He shook his head of the thought - if he killed that Rick, he could kill his. They were the same. 

His free hand fiddled with the fabric of his eyepatch as he finally stepped forward, shaking slightly with something he couldn't describe. Anger, happiness, fear, nerves - he couldn't tell, but thinking about it didn't matter as he stopped and zeroed in on the one person that didn't belong there. That shouldn't be there.

It was him. It was him, sitting there with a bright smile and yellow shirt, a beacon that Morty's eyes were drawn to. Rick had  _replaced_ him. Like he was a - a bottle of wine, or a broken toy, or an object not worth saving or searching for. He nearly dropped the gun, hand falling from his eye. They hadn't noticed him yet, the perfect little family off in their own world.

The world he deserved to belong to.

"You..." He sounded  _dead._ Empty and shallow, like Rick had hollowed him out with everything he'd done. The family snapped to attention like dogs to a command, equal parts wary and curious. "You got a new one."

The Morty looked confused. Scared. It made sense -  _Morty_ was staring right at him, trying to burn through him with a look only, trying to see what made him so special that he could replace him.

He wasn't special. He was unextraordinary.

"Look, buddy, I don't know who you are, but - but go whinge to your Rick, right?" Rick stood up, defensive? Back straight and hand over his belt where Morty knew he kept his ray-gun, he looked every part concerned grandfather.

No - this wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, he was supposed to remember him and be afraid of him, he was supposed to feel sorry for leaving him. He wasn't supposed to forget. 

Everyone was staring at him. He felt flayed open, raw, and he hated it. 

"You left me." He needed to stay calm. Rational, even though poison anger was bubbling up and threatening to swallow him whole. "I was stuck and you left me."

Recognition hit like a lightning bolt, and Morty saw the exact moment that Rick realised who he was. He staggered back, a myriad of emotions crossing his face before he settled on disbelief. The rest of them looked on, confused. Morty had eyes for no-one else, willing Rick to do something, say something to make it all better, to dig himself from the grave Morty's made for him. When Rick didn't do anything, he shook himself.

He didn't need Rick to help him anymore. He could help himself now; he didn't need to depend on anyone. And Rick wasn't dependable.

"Morty?" He finally spoke up, stepping forward. His hand had dropped off his belt. "Morty, I-"

Dad,  _Jerry,_ stood up, his silverware cluttering against the table-top as he cleared his throat. Morty's gaze flicked to him. "Now, I demand to know what's going on!" His voice was nasally, grating. Morty had missed it. "Who's the eyepatched kid that looks like my son?"

Morty's hand fluttered to his eye, almost self-concious as he felt a scowl creep onto his features. This was why he was... on the fence about his family - for all that he had loved them, they brought out the worst in him and each other. How had they not noticed? He and the fake looked alike, sure, but surely they were different? 

No. If all Ricks were the same, didn't that mean that Mortys were too?

He sneered, locking eyes with his father.

"Why don't you ask Rick?" He said, practically spitting acid with the sheer disgust in his voice, "he's the one that got my eye torn out."

Rick's face crumpled, and Morty was almost blown away. He really was an impressive actor, and he suddenly had no difficulty seeing how exactly he had escaped prison, death, torture, with only the help of his silver-tongue and sorry expression. Maybe, in another universe, he really was an actor. Maybe he profited off his deception, maybe people paid to see it. Morty wouldn't be one of them.

He might have been, maybe - maybe if this hadn't happened, he would be thrilled to watch Rick run rings around his enemies with little more than his tongue. He would have loved to learn how to show the emotions he wanted instead of the ones he felt.

Now it was just apart of the joke.

"My grandpa would - would never do that!" The  _imposter_ shouted, rising to his feet so fast that Morty was almost taken aback. Loyal. Like a mutt. Fitting. "J-just fuck off!"

That made Morty snap, teeth pulling back in a snarl and eye narrowing. He raised the gun, pointing it straight at his doppelganger. His hands weren't shaking. "He's not your grandpa," Morty growled, tilting the gun and his head as he stared himself down, "he's mine, he did this to me - you're just a cheap replacement, I'm the real one!"

Summer had dropped her phone in her oatmeal and was watching with an enraptured and slightly horrified look on her face. She turned to Rick, no doubt expecting him to fix it, explain the mess away. Beth raised an eyebrow, looking at him like he was trash someone had tracked in. An alien that Rick had dragged home on the bottom of his foot. 1It wasn't a look he thought would ever be subjected to - it was the look she gave Dad when he said something particularly stupid.

"Dad?" She said, when Jerry didn't. "What does he mean?"

_Why didn't she realise he was her son?_

"D-didn't you notice I was gone?" His voice broke, gun finally trembling in his hand as he focused on his Mom, his Dad, his older sister. His stutter was coming back and it was just a reminder of the life he had to leave behind, a reminder of all the ways they all dragged him down. "Didn't you care? About me?"

He stepped forward, eyes trained on his Mom. 

Had Rick stolen that from him too? Stolen a Morty in his sleep and stealing the mourning, the sadness, the regret. They didn't have to live with what had happened to him, go over their last interactions, plan a funeral - anything. It was like it hadn't happened. He was intruding, intruding on a new family. A family that didn't need him. That didn't grieve for him.

Beth didn't say anything after he said that, staring at her food like it would tell her the easy answer. The one that would hurt less. The imposter had tears welling up in his eyes and Morty knew he had finally figured it out. He probably knew more than the rest of them about what the universe was like, because of Rick. And Morty was angry, so angry that he shoved the gun in his waistband and closed the rest of the distance between them, wrapping small hands around his neck.

Fuck him. Fuck Rick. Fuck the cold, cruel, uncaring universe for letting this happen to him.

The replacement shrieked, squirming beneath him, eyes begging him for mercy as his face turned purple. Morty squeezed harder, desperate to see him  _punished._  He felt a strange sense of satisfaction - even though this was him. A version of him, he enjoyed the way his eyes screwed up and tears streamed down lilac cheeks. His self-esteem was low, he thought, a smile curving his lips through the anger at the artwork he had made.

All too soon (before he was dead, anyway), Rick pulled him off and Morty became distantly aware of everyone screaming and shouting, crowding around the fake as soon as he was clear. To make sure he was alright, to make sure he was okay like they weren't ripping what little remained of Morty's heart right from his chest with their bullshit. Morty was laughing, tinged with the giggle-fuelled hysteria that kept him sane during the cutting, the burning, the shocking.

He stared at the fake's neck, thoughtful. He'd have bruises to remember him by.

If he got out of the house alive; Morty's trigger finger was getting twitchier by the second.

"Morty, I'm - I'm sorry," Rick said, eyes sparkling earnest.  _Liar._ "B-but it's not his fault, he didn't know, I swear, Morty."

The laughing tapered off, cut short.

"Why'd you come back, Rick?" The stutter was gone again, thank fuck - he hated how weak and stupid it made him sound. "I would have been fine, I would have been normal if you had stayed on whatever rock you'd been for what - twenty years?" It was a question he'd had for a long time, long before betrayal crossed his mind as a possibility. If Morty were a fraction of Rick, he'd have stayed away.

Rick hesitated, eyes shifting as though he was trying to think of something that wouldn't set Morty off again - Morty might have been offended, if the image of an afraid Rick wasn't too enticing to ignore. Morty leaned over the table, and Rick sat back in his seat, hands running through his hair.

"Mortys," he started, flicking a glance to the rest of the Smith's who were pressed against the wall, "their - your - brainwaves, they mask mine." 

Well. Morty hadn't been expecting that. He'd wanted bullshit, he guessed, something sentimental and something that would make him want to give up, give in, be normal again. He looked at the Morty, snivelling and terrified and decided that, no, he would never be normal again - not if that was what normal looked like. Morty hardened himself - he came here for a fight, he came here for a win and nothing was going to change his mind.

"Where did you get him," it wasn't a question, it was a statement. A demand.

Rick hesitated again, the look he got when he was trying to calculate the least damaging path of action all-too evident on his face. "I got him illegally," he said finally, not looking at the replacement where he was curled in his fake-mother's arms. "It was from a dimension where a Rick - a Rick had died overnight, and I paid someone to ransport him here. 'Cos I'm under suspicion of the Citadel."

Morty's eyes narrowed. "Citadel?" 

"Of Ricks," he seemed much more relaxed now that they were having a conversation, even though the topic was a minefield, "they're like a governemnt; I told your Mom you were sleeping over at an alien friend's house, but the Citadel contacted me and asked if I - I had lost you to the Federation. I said no, but they needed proof otherwise someone would've been sent to-"

"Kill me?" Morty said, dull. "They're  _Ricks,_ after all."

"I thought you were dead already, Mort," he defended himself sharply, "but I would be given a warning by the Federation and would be refused a new Morty until - unless I passed a stupid test!"

Rick was just digging the hole he was in even deeper.

"Who transported it?" He asked, cold and sharp. Rick didn't answer immediately, and his tone turned sharper still. "Rick, I fucking swear..."

The person who did would need to be punished, too - for leaving him to rot, for absolving Rick,  _for making everyone forget him._ Who was it? An alien, a monster, a-

"It was another Rick," he said, and Morty positively crowed at the new, damning evidence. "L-look, Morty, just stop the fucking dramatics and let me look you over, alright?"

Morty didn't need to know which Rick; the radio scanners, the guards, the agents, what had they said? Who had been all over their dimension in the past - how long had it been? Which Rick had been all up in their business, firing them up until they couldn't stop talking about him? What was the number he heard, over and over and over and over? Morty knew it connected, he knew it, he knew it, he knew it.

_C-137_

That's why he was there, that's why Morty wasn't able to get his name out of his head for months, that's why he wasn't able to escape Rick as the Federation hurt him, killed him only to bring him back from the brink.

He was a step below his own Rick in guilty, and a step above the Rescuing Rick. He was looking forward to figuring out the system - who was the least guilty to most, how could he separate them? He would crack it, and his punishments would fit their crimes. Same person, different crimes, same person, different times.

"You don't care," Morty said, pulling the knife from where it was digging into his skin. A gun was too slow. Too easy, too good for the ultimate betrayer. "Or you would have h-helped me." Damn his voice for breaking on the word but it was so close, too close to home - he'd needed Rick and Rick had needed no-one. No matter. He needed to kill the weak parts of him still, and they all lay in Rick. He wanted them out, wanted the damn _feelings_ out before he ripped his eye out again, trying to emulate the emptiness the Federation forced on him.

The people against the wall, his ex-family gasped in unison when they caught sight of the blade, but a warning shot from the gun by his other hand kept them from doing something stupid. Even Summer, maybe the most reckless of the trio stayed still, eyes locked on Morty's weapons. Rick's hand shot to his pockets, rummaging for something - probably a device to make Morty forget as well.

To take the experience away from his own mind.

Morty snarled like a blood-thirsty animal, and Rick stilled. Unsure, uneasy, trying to figure out how to understand Morty when he's already had the opportunity. Morty lunged forward, knife tucked back so it wouldn't kill Rick as he wrestled him onto the ground. It was thrilling, knowing how to deactivate the mesh that covered his whole body just from seeing him do it before, on another planet so long ago.

Genuine fear flickered in Rick's eye - it wasn't of Morty, rather of death, but Morty was willing to take on the mantle. Rick seemed unwilling to hurt Morty, which was... _charming,_ for sure. He wondered how far he could push the envelope before Rick was forced to hurt him again just to avoid something he deserved. Morty shook away the thought, focusing on how Rick's mouth moved begging for his life, for Morty's forgiveness.

"I've changed," Rick cried, moisture springing to life in his eyes as he held his hands in prayer position, "you've been gone for over a year, Morty, I've changed. I'm sorry, please."

There was a pregnant pause, charged with sparking electricity almost akin to the volts that had been forced through Morty's body, not too long ago. Morty's muscles twitched, spasming at the reminder, and the knife was brought to Rick's face. The other Rick had no warning - was Rick giving himself up, or was it the power coursing through Morty's veins?

It didn't matter. Nothing did, except for his revenge, perfect and absolute and then the dreams and nightmares would stop and he would be free, forever.

"I don't believe you."

He brought the knife down.

  


*

  


It was disgusted fascination (mixed with something he couldn't place his finger on) that convinced Morty to take Rick's body with him. 

His family was easy to take care of, and the fake was in the trunk of Rick's ship. For extra protection - he didn't trust other Ricks not to track him down, and he had his suspicions that his own brainwaves had been shocked into a different frequency. He was almost a different person now, and that meant he wasn't safe. As soon as the thrill of the kill left him, paranoia and aniety clawed at his throat like old friends. He forced himself to relax, to form a plan that would come out with him on top.

First, he needed to find a safe place. Not for forever; just a place he could organise a meeting. Then he would find a more permanent location, where he would be able to do whatever he wanted. 

The Fake-Morty in the trunk squealed when Real-Morty took a sharp turn around a particularly rocky meteor-belt. Morty kept a scowl from twisting his face into an ugly thing of self-hatred, and took another sharp turn. On purpose, this time. Morty wasn't - well, a Morty anymore. He was unique, as far as he could tell, and was smart enough to try and plan, try and get revenge when most Mortys would curl up and give in.

He was a different breed, and it was the teenager inside him that took vindictive pleasure in torturing himself.

Trading one of Rick's eye for a galactic phone was fine, but it took him a few hours to hook it up to the portal gun's power source. He still managed, though, and the portal fluid translated coordinates to a matching number.

_C-137_

The man didn't pick up, but Morty didn't expect him to. He didn't know if times were different in different dimensions - he suspected some were, at least - but it was a rule of thumb that Rick would rather be drunk, high, or dead off his ass than answer the damn phone. He let the gag voicemail play out, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel of the spaceship in a show of patience to an audience of stars.

A deep breath.

"Rick C-137, this is Morty G-567," Morty turned to look at Rick who was sprawled out on the seat next to him, his remaining eye bulging grotesquely, a deep cut right down his lying mouth. Blood covered the left side of his head, bits of brain poking out from where Morty had pulled the knife out too fast and harsh. Morty looked away, "My Rick would like to meet with you. Get back to us."

There was work to be done.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what will happen in this meeting? what will morty discover that will be the fuel of his obsession for C-137's memories?
> 
> bookmark, share, comment and kudos to find out ;)


	3. alive again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick was alive again - or at least as alive as a dead person could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sksksk this took much longer than I anticipated, and it's not even LONG im so sorry.

In the end, it took three days for C-137 to reach out to Morty.

He wouldn't lie, it was annoying. It set him back at least a few days in terms of planning but, well, he had a productive time. His own Rick was looking less like a disfigured, mutilated corpse, and more like a pincushion; face full of stitches, the skin of his scalp held with medical tape and staples. And his brain was more or less Morty's playhouse, ripe with possibilties. He had no doubt that someone out there would pay good money for Rick Sanchez's brain, but it was the blueprints he had palmed that were holding him back.

The eye - his eye - was a part of a bigger scheme. With the extra time C-137 had given him, he had been able to spread it out over the dashboard and try and see what others might have missed in erratic scribblings and half-finished notes. There was something the Rescuer-Rick  _hadn't_ explained to him. 

The eye hooked up to Morty's brain and worked through the same channels as his old one. It worked like a natural eye did, and seamlessly at that. But, as Morty discovered in a hastily scrawled, obviously drunken paragraph on it's back, it could also trigger other parts of the brain to work with a little tweaking. In theory, at least.

The eye itself wasn't hard to recreate - with a few hold-ups and a severed finger, courtesy of Fake-Morty, the materials weren't hard to find or collect. Morty hadn't known Rick for long, but he was familiar with his inventions. They cluttered his household, and every inch of the garage was plastered with scribbles and plans that he had to know, had to be able to decipher because he was the one people used to turn to. When Rick was black-out drunk or passed out, and something was going wrong, he was the one they had come to.

His life had revolved around Rick's inventions since the first day he'd come. It had made him feel smart, then, but now all he felt was...

Nothing. Not a single, little thing. None of the burning rage, none of the disappointment. He would have said he was sorry to see it go but, well... He wasn't a liar. Not yet. He'd stretched the truth, butchered reality until it fit in a nice little sentence framed just the way he liked it, but he hadn't outright lied just yet. He'd have to lie soon - really lie. He'd have to pretend to be weak, and helpess, and alone in a way that made Rick's let themselves be unguarded.

And they'd be unguarded. Defenceless. They never would believe a wittle, innocent Morty was out to get them, would they?

He let the voice-mail play again, fingers clenching around nothing.

_"Heyyy, waddup G-567?"_

_"-ick, who are you on the phone to?"_

_"Some Rick and his - his Morty, Morty. D-don't worry 'bout it, Jesus- hey give the phone bac-"_

_"Sorry about him, he's a bit-" a crash sounded "-drunk right now. We'll be able to m-meet you at the Flubnar System, you know the restaurant on the first moon? There. See you tomorrow!"_

_"Morty, you weren't invite-"_

The message stopped there.

Grinding his teeth, Morty let it play. Again. 

 

*

 

The next day, when Morty called once more, Rick picked up. 

"Don't bring your Morty." Morty said, cool as ever, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he continued the job of hooking the wires of the eye to Rick's -  _his_ Rick's - brain. Predictably, the Rick on the other end of the line sputtered, offended at being told what to do. Morty let him finish his rant, using big words trying to make Morty feel dumb, and cow him into letting Rick do whatever he wanted.

He pulled his own eye out, running the tiny chisel he'd taken from Rick's coat along the flawless seam that held his eye together. The inside was crowded, chips and wires connecting everywhere in seemingly meaningless ways.

_"-Where's your Rick, I - I demand to know where he is-"_

Ah, there it was. Morty glanced at the blueprints again, even though he had studied them enough to know the schematics off by heart. He just needed to adjust that wire and place his shoddy, just-barely functional attempt at a transmitter in the empty slot. He waited, breath caught in his throat as the Rick on the other end of the line huffed and puffed.

_Beep!_

The transmitter's light remained a pale red.

_Beep!_

Red...

_Beep!_

Morty bit his lip.

_Be-click!_

The light flicked green, matching up with the one inside Rick's eye. Success! Morty didn't bother containing his whoop of glee, cutting C-137 off as he spoke.

Morty tidied up the body a little, the pungent smell of death covering his grandpa like it was a cheap version of his lab-coat.The blood was dabbed away with a damp towel, his clothes replaced except for his coat, though the blood never came out of that right. The stain covered most of the front, where Rick had fallen over after a particularly harsh spin of the ship, his face dripping blood in a slow, steady stream.

"Why don't you talk to my Rick, then," he said, his voice a little too breathless. He closed his eyes, praying,  _trusting_ this to work how it was supposed to. And, when he opened his eyes, Rick was staring back at him. And, actually staring.

Eyes not clouded with death, half-lidded. Staring, with something living behind his eyes even if it was only Morty. EVen if it was only him, Rick was alive. Morty had done what no Rick had been able to do - he had cured  _death._

 ~~~~~~~~_Like he was giving Rick a life._

Morty brushed the niggle of doubt aside. There were no rooms for doubt, not with Rick waiting on him expectantly. He held the phone out. "Say hi, Rick." The smile that curved his lips could be described as nothing more than malicious, sharp and dangerous, as Rick did exactly what he said.

 

*

 

It had taken a few tries, and a lot of unintelligible muttering on Rick's end, for Morty to convey his point with Rick's tongue. In the end, it was relatively simple. Rick already had a Morty that would be shield enough for the two of them. C-137 had a portal gun if anything went south. Rick wanted to discuss the business he and C-137 had conducted together and,  _oh, do you think your Morty will be okay with our deal?_

Morty had had time to grow wise to Rick's antics, while living with him and living alone. Ricks were hardened, eyes open to the tricks and twists the universe had to offer - but Morties made them soft. Morties made them blind. There was a reason that Ricks stayed away from their families, and it was for more reason than their own secret desire for devotion. Ricks too easily settled into complacency; they needed the constant thrill of living under the enemies nose, they needed space to keep them feeling alive.

Adventures were good, but they would never be enough for a person who was found in the dictionary as an example for the word _extreme._

_Extreme; adjective. Synonyms include Rick Sanchez. Antonyms include Morty Smith._

Morty felt like there should be more. There should be more colour to Rick's cheek even though his heart only just started working, after almost five days of disuse. There should be more excitement to him, excitement because he was  _alive._ There should definitely be less screaming in the back though, holy hell. Morty really did have some lungs on him, even with fabric shoved in his mouth. And he hadn't given up yet either! 

There was something to be admired about perseverance, even if it was pointless and more than a little annoying.

He would need to drop him off somewhere. Or just get rid of him permanently. Having a maimed Morty in the trunk, screaming for C-137's attention would ruin everything. And, to think, in only a few hours he would be meeting the second-worst (so far, at least) Rick, and there was so much left to finish and wrap up.

A muffled shriek caught his attention, both him and Rick looking back. 

Maybe he could see how far his control over Rick reached - and, when he looked into Rick's eyes, he saw himself staring back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight cliffhanger? kudos and comments my loves!
> 
> (and remember to check out my Rick and Morty series, 'just a little bit broken'!)


	4. love me, love me please

The infamous Rogue, the Rickest Rick, the Paranoid Rick.

All those names, all those titles, all his experience, and the Rick was still dropping into Morty's lap like a dumb, worthless animal. Oh, it was no insult to C-137's intelligence--he wasn't expecting an attack, after all--but it was testament to Morty's, and how easy it had been. Even though Morty's Rick had a flat voice, a slur where Morty's words wouldn't pass his lips, the other Rick bought it.

Everything was happening, and Morty would be able to see what made this Rick so special. What made this Rick so special that every moment of Morty's _torture_ was filled with his name, what made him so powerful that he thought he could cross into Morty's dimension with no consequences?

The ship was silent. 

For the first time in days, there was no screaming from the trunk, or metal against metal as he tried to repair Rick. The Morty had been killed. Not by Morty's hands, of course; that was what Rick was for. It was an interesting way to test his control, and it was nothing short of enlightening to see the Morty's face. He had been so, so grateful that Rick was alive, before he realised that it wasn't the Rick he had loved. Morty had loved seeing his face contort, in terror and agony as Morty pulled the strings on the situation like an expert puppet master. 

 _Rip his eye out,_ Morty had said, and Rick had listened.

 _Break his bones,_ Morty had thought, and Rick carried it out.

 _Kill him,_ Morty had smiled, and the same smile warped Rick's face as blood spattered over his skin.

They had left the body on some random planet, to be gawked at and seen by the masses. Morty hoped no-one mourned him. He hoped, with every shard of his heart he had left, that he would remain nameless and friendless, with no-one having known him or loved him. A gravestone with no name, a description in a newspaper; that was all he'd be, and Morty couldn't have been happier.

Oh, sure, it was sad. But that Morty had already been contaminated, ruined by Morty's Rick. He had been taken and deceived, contaminated and destroyed, and he had been  _saved._ Being nothing, no-one, was better than being a belonging. It was better than being an object, a shield; something that was to be discarded and thrown away without a second thought. 

Death was  _salvation._ Wasn't that why Morty had always begged for it, back in captivity? Wasn't that why he brought Rick back, to torture him, torment him? 

_No, no, that wasn't it, why did he bring him back again?_

There didn't have to be a reason, he decided, he didn't have anything to prove. All he had was Rick; a follower, someone to command. A doll, a toy, a puppet to string along however he pleased. His mind buzzed, snippets of memories and nightmares playing just at the surface. And, like it had never been calming before, the air charged and Morty found himself playing along with the universe.

"Why don't you put on the radio, Rick?"

It was polite, smooth; his voice fluid in the air. Rick's actions were mechanical and choppy as he obliged, and Morty turned away. It wasn't his fault, he thought, he just needed more practice. He just needed to learn how to make Rick  _Rick,_ and not another copy of Morty. God knew that there were already too many of those. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, not to the beat of the jaunty tune that filled the air between them.

They were just returning from dumping the Morty, and then he would meet C-137. Well, he and Rick would.

It was finally happening, and Morty hadn't even planned it properly - what was he going to say? Do? He should let Rick take the lead, but they weren't good at it yet; would the other Rick notice? Would he be able to tell, from the unnatural gleam in Rick's iris, the way his pupil didn't contract like it should? Morty hoped he didn't but, oh well; he had a knife in his pocket and he would be ready.

He had already taken down two Ricks. He had proven himself (to whom did he need to prove anything, he wondered), and he was worthy of their blood on his skin, he was worth twice of any Rick. 

With that in mind, he parked. His fingers dropped to press against the outline of his knife in his pocket. He was worthy. Everything would go how he wanted it to. Everything would, because he wouldn't give it any other choice.

 

*

 

"Problem with the product?" C-137 asked, brow quirked at Rick over the table. Morty kept quiet, head down and quietly seething. "You and I both fucking know he had both eyes when I dropped him off. And, I'm assuming he knows since he's here."

It was hard to keep quiet, but Morty had learned patience. He had learned while waiting for Rick to save him, and while waiting for people to stop hurting him. Patience was a trait he learned through blood and tears, and it would be enough to keep him from slicing C-137's throat open, ear to ear. Like a necklace (a collar), or a smile (a snarl), he was sure that any Rick could pull it off with pride.

Morty remembered that he wasn't the product, or a thing to be bartered, and let Rick reply. "This isn't the product," Rick said, dull and bored. It sounded too forced, and Morty let him place his elbows on the table in a seemingly relaxed pose. "This is my original."

C-137 looked decidedly intrigued, eyeing Morty for just a moment. "Thought you said he died. Isn't that why you paid for a new one? You and I both know that we hate speaking in riddles, Rick. Say it outright, or shut the fuck up, y'know?"

"I was taken by the Federation when my Rick abandoned me," Morty cut in smoothly, trying not to take much pleasure in how easy it was to catch C-137's attention. "I recently escaped, with the aid of a Rick from a separate dimension altogether-" Morty hated giving the bastard any credit, no matter how kind he had acted, but lies sounded better when sprinkled with truths. "- and the product was terminated when I returned."

C-137's face shifted in a few different ways, and Morty tried to catalogue them all. _Disgust, shock, anger..._ over what? A Morty? It wasn't possible, though, so Morty brushed the thought aside. Maybe he was angry that he had wasted his time giving a Morty, only for him to wind up useless. Maybe he thought Rick was trying to negotiate a refund of sorts.

"You killed Mort--you killed the kid?" This was directed at Rick, and Morty's brow creased. While Rick has helped, Morty was the one that gave the order! He was the one that thought of it, he was the one that made it possible!

"Morty did," he had Rick shrug, and remained sitting straight as a pole when he asked Rick to sling an arm over his shoulder. "Pr'bly for the best anyway. The other one wasn't the same."

Because Morty wasn't run-of-the-mill, he wasn't boring, he was unique. He was smarter than the others, he was smarter than these idiot Ricks. Nothing could or would replace him, because he wouldn't let it happen. He would kill anyone who tried, even if he had to climb out of his fucking grave to do it. His nose burned, and he kept his chin high, because he knew he wasn't replaceable. Rick had just said it, hadn't he? He wouldn't replace Morty.

"Clearly," the Rogue looked perturbed, his mouth a thin, set line, and his shoulders hunched. "Can I--c'mon, brother, let's talk in private. Just--just for a second."

Morty was ready to protest, but he knew the role he needed to play, now. He could see what Rick could see, he could hear what Rick could hear, and he would still be in control. He would still be able to play this game, and maybe even better. He concentrated and, yes, Rick rolled his eyes and stood. He was a little clumsy, stumbling just a little, but Rick was an alcoholic. There were a million reasons to explain it, and all of them were better than mind control.

"Did you check--is your Morty fucking brainwashed, dude?" C-137 said, his arms folded over his chest. "Hell, a-are you fucking brainwashed? You left your Morty to be t-taken away, and then let him come back and kill the new one? What the fuck?"

"You would do the same," Morty said through Rick, rolling his eyes. He was taken aback, though, by the look in C-137's eyes. It was angry, soft, forceful, and a million other things that revolved around a Morty.

"I would-" C-137 cut himself off. "Look, are you fucking your Morty?"

Wait.

_What?_

Rick's blank stare was, apparently, not concerning to the Rogue, who continued where he let off. "If you are, j-just lay off for a while. Mine can get all loose with his sanity too if I--if I overwhelm him. That's just how Mortys are. Y-you've got to respect your tools if you want to experiment to work, right?" Rick nodded in acquiescence, even as Morty let his teeth sink into the flesh inside his cheek. 

The Rogue fucked his Morty? Did... did all Ricks? Would Rick have--have--

If he hadn't been taken, would that have been him?

He shook his head, and straightened his shoulders as they approached the table they had left him sitting at. Morty had drifted off somewhere, his mind echoing pounding feet. It sounded like drumming, the drumming of his heart as he tried to breathe, because he was being left behind-

His subconscious managed to take over, in a spectacular move that shocked him, even in his state, and Rick tugged him along by his wrist. It didn't matter what could or couldn't have happened.

All that mattered was that the Rogue cared for his Morty. More than other Ricks, even. 

But why?

Morty needed to know. More than he had ever needed an eye, more than he had ever needed Rick to love him. He needed to know how Morty C-137 had done it. 

_He needed to._

 

*

 

C-137 loved his Morty. He cared for him, even if it was fucking sick, and Morty couldn't help but compare himself to his counterpart. Trapped, under a Rick, doing what he said.... it was awful, but all Morty could think about was the look in Rick's eyes. The softness to them, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly just at the thought of whatever he was doing to that pathetic waif of a boy.

Morty needed him. He needed C-137's memories. He needed to see what his Morty did to make him love him, and he needed to know if he would give his Morty up. A sickness bubbled up from his gut, forcing him to ask: was it really his fault after all? Was he to blame, for not being attractive enough or soft enough for Rick?

"Apologise to me, Rick," Morty said, his eyes burning as his fists clenched and his lip quivered. "Tell me--tell me you're sorry."

Rick had already apologised. He had already said sorry, but Morty needed to hear it  _again_. He needed to hear it, more than he had ever needed anything else. "I'm sorry, Morty." Rick said, eyes dull and voice wrong, wrong,  _wrong._ He wasn't Rick, and Morty didn't even feel like himself anymore. He made Rick do something else, moved his lips as though they were his own. "I love you, Morty," Rick continued, and Morty closed his eyes.

_Again._

"I love you, Morty."

_Again._

"I love you, Morty."

_Again._

And it was true because Morty said it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we see an appearance from 'just a little bit broken' Rick!
> 
> short chapter while i try and get into the swing of updating more frequently!

**Author's Note:**

> continue? or is it good as it is? i cant decide :p
> 
> comments and kudos really inspire me so please, drop either (though both is preferable sjsjsj)
> 
> much love! xx


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